Anne of Avenue A (For the Love of Austen #3)

Prologue

Anne broke Freddie’s heart on a Friday.

It wasn’t something she planned to do. In fact, as she stood in the back room of the Half Pint, surrounded by a crowd of friends and acquaintances she barely recognized singing “Jingle Bell Rock” at the top of their lungs, it didn’t even enter her mind.

All she could really think about was how her cashmere cardigan didn’t quite fit in with the apparent dress code of ugly Christmas sweaters and candy-cane-striped stockings, and how the cheering and yelling and singing clashed with the music blaring from the bar’s ancient speakers, which were half-hidden by the tinsel hanging from the ceiling.

And how, despite the chaos and the noise, she was actually enjoying herself.

Anne Elliot had always thought she hated parties.

It wasn’t so much that they were chaotic—though they were definitely that—but they were always so draining.

Energy was required to meet the chaos, the yelled conversations and the press of the crowd, and it always left her feeling hollow.

But even as the thought entered her head, a tall figure appeared through the doorway, two drinks in hand.

A reminder that maybe she didn’t hate parties that much.

At least, not a Freddie Wentworth party.

“FREDDIE!” someone yelled across the bar. Everyone else turned to witness his return as well, cheering and raising their drinks toward him.

He raised his two glasses as well and nodded.

Even in the dim glow of the neon signs, Anne could see his green eyes as they scanned the room, the messy brown hair in dire need of a trim poking out from under a red Santa hat, the lopsided grin barely concealed behind a comically bushy white fake beard.

When his eyes met hers, it widened into a full smile.

Anne and Freddie had been together for two and a half years, yet when he looked at her like that, she still felt her heart struggle to operate, tripping and catching like a motor caught in the wrong gear.

It was the same look he’d had on his face when they met, back when she was a nineteen-year-old sophomore darting between college classes at NYU, working so hard for no one to notice her and still shocked that somehow he had anyway.

Freddie started toward her, weaving his way through the festive crowd, saying hello and nodding as needed.

He was the host, after all, and over the course of the past two years, he’d become something of a celebrity among the NYU crowd.

Whether it was a Halloween bash on a sprawling rooftop in Brooklyn or a day drink in an empty office building in Midtown, his parties were infamous.

The music transitioned to “All I Want for Christmas Is You” when he stopped just in front of her.

His usual uniform of a vintage T-shirt and baggy jeans had been replaced by an oversized Santa costume that hung awkwardly on his tall frame.

But somehow, miraculously, he could pull it off.

Such was the magic of Freddie Wentworth.

“What are you staring at?” he asked, narrowing his eyes. Despite the beard, Anne could still see that familiar easy grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, the crinkling at the corner of his eyes that made her feel like the most special person in the world.

She shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Nothing.”

“It’s the beard. It’s doing it for you, isn’t it,” he deadpanned.

“You’re ridiculous.” She rolled her eyes, barely curbing her smile.

“Ridiculously good-looking, right?”

Now it was impossible not to laugh. Anne let it bubble out of her, and he watched, his smile broadening, like he had unlocked his one achievement for the night.

“Which one of those is mine?” she asked, nodding to the drinks in his hands.

“Good question.” He held up the two glasses. Under the glow of the nearby neon beer sign, they looked almost identical. “One of them is a Sprite and cranberry, and the other one is a cocktail called Christmas in Your Mouth.”

She considered both, then grabbed the one in his right hand and took a deep sip. The bitter taste of pine and cranberry and orange assaulted her mouth, while some undefinable alcohol burned her tongue.

Freddie watched her gag and winced. “That bad?”

She nodded and reached for the other glass.

He gave it to her, then took the cocktail back and took a sip for himself. “Huh. I never thought Christmas would taste like cheap tequila and grenadine.”

She laughed again. This time it sent the last remnants of alcohol up her nose, making her eyes water.

The crowd was just hitting the crescendo of their song as he took another sip and snaked his arm around her waist, bringing her back flush against his body.

“Merry Christmas, Annie,” he whispered, his lips almost touching the shell of her ear.

She smiled. This is what she had missed over the past few weeks. The ease, the laughter, the constant touches and whispers. She had taken it for granted before, but now it suddenly felt like a rare, precious thing that needed attention.

Between managing the expectations of her parents and surviving her overloaded class schedule, Anne’s senior year at NYU had become so hectic she barely had a moment to herself.

Of course, Freddie would probably argue that it wasn’t too different from the previous few years.

She always pushed herself, relied on her lists and schedules to eke out as many hours in the day as possible.

But her senior year had brought a whole new sense of urgency.

Anne was a year older than Freddie and a year above him at NYU, so while he was allowed to continue with his nonchalant attitude toward higher education, Anne was forced to buckle down and take her last remaining credits even more seriously.

Slowly, their time together became more sporadic, squeezed in whenever she could find an afternoon or weekend.

She had convinced herself it was fine, a temporary hiccup in a relationship that had always been so easy, so perfect.

But then her mind wandered to next year…

Nope. No spiraling, she thought, and took a sip of her drink. She had time to tell him. All she had to do right now was relax, enjoy the party, and—

“All I want for Christmas IS YOU!” the crowd sang in unison, throwing their arms up.

The move sent someone stumbling into Freddie from behind, making him lurch forward and sending his drink splashing out of its glass and all over Anne.

“Shit,” Freddie murmured.

The man responsible turned around, his drunken eyes barely able to focus on Anne’s now-sodden blond hair and navy blue sweater, then up at Freddie.

“Oh,” he said. “Sorry, man.”

Freddie shot him a sharp glare and handed him what was left of their drinks.

“Cool,” the man replied. “Thanks.”

Freddie ignored him as he took Anne’s hand and gave it a tug.

“Let’s go get you cleaned up before this requires a dry-cleaning bill,” he whispered. They weaved their way through the throngs of people until they reached the door.

Outside, the sidewalk was still covered with snow from the day before, and Freddie threw his Santa coat around Anne’s shoulders, revealing his Jets hoodie underneath, as they walked around the corner to a quieter section of Third Street.

Once the sounds of the party had faded a bit, he stopped and turned her around to face him.

Under the faint light of the streetlamp, he leaned down and blotted a bit of still-dripping drink off her cheek with the edge of his sweatshirt.

When he was done, he didn’t look away, just studied her expression, her pale skin, her blond hair pulled back in a neat ponytail.

She had grown to love that look of his, too—it was like she was a complex machine that he wanted to take apart and put back together again.

“What’s the damage?” she asked, smoothing the side of her ponytail with her palm.

“Grotesque. Awful,” he said, that wry grin still playing with his mouth. “But I love you anyway.”

Anne smiled and reached up, pulling off his ridiculous beard.

He took a step forward to bring his body flush with hers and press her back against the cool brick exterior of the building.

His hand moved slowly up the line of her neck to her jaw.

Since he started working on his hydroponics project last year, his hands had slowly become more calloused.

She had always loved how he touched her, but now those same fingers felt rough as he cradled her face and slowly ran his thumb over her bottom lip. She loved that even more.

“I can’t believe it’s already Christmas,” he murmured. “We have to make the next couple of weeks count before I lose you to school again.”

The reminder opened up a pit in her stomach. She usually loved Christmas—the way it seemed to cover New York in a magical sheen, how the city almost felt like a village where everyone was happy to see everyone else and everything was perfect. For a couple of weeks, at least.

But this year the holiday felt looming, a warning that she and Freddie only had a few perfect days left before reality set in.

She would have to tell him about next year, admit that she had applied to Columbia School of Business for her master’s a few months ago, and that an email had arrived just a few days before with the news that she had been accepted.

Anne hadn’t thought she would get in—that was half the reason she didn’t tell him she’d applied.

But the other half… She let out a long breath.

Her parents had always pushed her to do something lucrative with her love of mathematics, and after four years of pursuing a degree in economics at NYU, she thought they would be appeased—she would be able to graduate and finally focus on what she wanted to do.

Or, at least, figure out what that was, exactly.